DECKER DIDN’T MOVE.
The room was very dark, the moonlight that would normally be coming in through the window obscured by the cloud cover. He could hear the rain drumming on the roof.
But his focus was on the knife blade. It was pressed against his left jugular, a superhighway of circulation. If it was severed, he would bleed out in under a minute.
He could hear the other person’s breathing, slow, measured—no panic or lack of control there. That gave him some comfort. The breath was also foul: coffee, cigarettes, and garlic. The confluence of smells swept into his nostrils, nearly making him gag.
By casting his gaze downward he could just make out the very large hand holding the knife.
The voice said, “You’re fucking everything up.” It was calm, low, and still managed to be intimidating.
Decker thought about this candid opening. He wondered if the follow-up would be to slash his neck open. “Not my intent,” he said.
“Don’t play stupid with me. I know you’re a cop. I know you got brains. But you leave it be. Go home. And leave it be.”
“What about Melvin?”
Decker felt the knife blade press harder against his skin. So hard in fact that it cut into him. Something slid down his neck. A drop of blood. But only a drop. The jug was still intact.
“What about him?” asked the voice.
“He’s got nothing.”
The knife pressed still harder and Decker could feel another little prick of the blade. And another drop slid down his neck and was absorbed into his T-shirt.
“He’s got his freedom. That’s enough.”
“After twenty years?”
“He should be grateful.”
“I’m not saying he’s not,” replied Decker calmly, even as he felt the blade push deeper against his skin. His jugular was exposed, right at the surface from the pressure. The guy knew exactly what he was doing, and had probably done it before. Which did not make Decker feel any better.
“I’m just saying that he’s feeling vulnerable.”
“Tell him not to worry. I’ve got his back.”
“Because of his mother?”
The blade withdrew just a hair. “What the hell do you know about anything?” the man growled.
“I don’t know much. In fact, there’s a lot I don’t know. But I know Lucinda loved her son. And you loved her. And she made you promise, didn’t she?”
The blade pressed more firmly against his artery. “You’re making this difficult on yourself.”
“I’m just trying to help Melvin.”
“I told you I’ve got his back.”
“Against the cartel?”
The man snorted.
Decker said, “So not the cartel?”
The man fell silent.
“Why did you pick Montgomery to get Melvin out of prison? What’s the connection?”
“Not going there.”
“You don’t have Davenport, do you?” asked Decker.
The man didn’t answer right away. “Who?”
“She was with us. Someone took her.”
Decker felt the blade slowly move away from his neck. “When?” The voice was not intimidating now, just wary.
“A few days ago. She must have known them. They took her from her room and made it look like a fight. But it was all staged. She knew the person. And that narrows things down.”
“Why would they take her?”
“I don’t know. I thought for leverage against us. Maybe to ask for Melvin in exchange, but they’ve made no attempt to contact us.”
“Maybe they want information.”
“Maybe they do. And maybe they got it from her. But I think what they really wanted was Melvin.”
“Why?”
“The stuff in the safe deposit box. They think he has it.”
“How do you know about that?”
“I’m a detective. It’s what I do.”
“Mellow knows nothing about it.”
Decker didn’t understand this name, but he didn’t think right now was a good time to get into it. “I know he doesn’t, but they don’t know that. They think he will lead them to it.”
“Shit.” This was said more to himself than to Decker. “I didn’t think…after all this time.”
“Right, I get that. But it did happen and it’s a problem,” said Decker. “You had to be aware that might happen. You sprung him and now we see the consequences. They didn’t buy Montgomery’s story. And they know you’re alive…Roy.”
Decker steeled himself for the blade to return to his jugular, because he had finally named the man. He added, “Even though that’s not your real name.”
“I told you to back off.”
“I know you did. I’m just telling you what I know. Lucinda’s dead, you’re not. You set up your own son.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Then what happened?”
“I don’t have to tell you nothing.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve got the knife. I’m just saying that they’re out there and they want Melvin, and I’m not sure you can cover his back.”
“You’re with the damn FBI, what can you do?”
“We’re doing all we can. I just don’t know if it’s going to be enough, considering I have no idea who else is out there. Maybe you can help me there.”
Decker waited for the man to say something. He knew he was still there. He could hear him. And smell him.
Outside the rain continued to pour down. Decker wondered if this would be the last time he would hear the miserable rain. He imagined himself bleeding out on this crummy bed in the middle of nowhere in Texas.
“You there?” he asked. “You got something to say?”
“If they took your friend, I’d stop worrying. It’s too late for her. Just the way it is.”
“Okay. I hope you’re wrong, but you’re probably not.”
“And you need to stand down. I’ll take care of this.”
“Like you took care of Regina Montgomery?”
“You want me to kill you?”
“No, but I want to understand what’s going on.”
“Why?”
“I told you why. I want to help Melvin.”
“Nobody can help him, not really. He got screwed. No fault of his, just the way it turned out.”
“He had his whole life planned out.”
“So did I. It happens. Life is like that. Plans go to shit.”
“He went to prison because of you, Roy.”
“It was better than the alternative. He’s alive, isn’t he?”
“For now.”
“Just go back to wherever you came from and let me take care of this. Take Mellow with you. As far away as you can. I won’t ask a second time. The next time I’m just going to gut you, you understand what I’m saying?”
“I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do. I really don’t.”
Decker braced for the strike.
When the blow fell, it wasn’t the knife, but something hard and heavy.
It struck the side of his head and all Decker saw after that was darkness.